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chapter three

Providence Station

Transverse, non-congruent


The Providence Project was the brainchild of Doctor Andover-Chen of SysGov’s Gordian Division and Under-Director Katja Hinnerkopf of the Admin’s Department of Temporal Investigation, with the goal of designing, constructing, and staffing a permanent base in the transverse, situated at the midpoint between the outer walls of SysGov and the Admin’s universes. It was the first large-scale joint project between the two superpowers, with SysGov handling the majority of the exotic matter construction and the Admin contributing an outsized share of the more conventional systems.

The agreement to build and operate Providence Station had been bought with the twin “coins” of shared blood and technological exchange. It had become possible only after the horrific price in blood and lives the two universes had paid fighting side-by-side against the enormous, transtemporal battle station Lucius Gwon had built. He’d betrayed Teodorà Beckett and Samuel Pepys to build it, then uploaded his connectome into its central computers, and it hadn’t bothered him one bit that he’d doomed three entire universes in the process. What had mattered to him was that he had finally become the god he’d always been in his own mind . . . until Teodorà’s suicide run had destroyed him along with the entire Dynasty, the civilization—and universe—she’d spent literally centuries building.

Yet she couldn’t have done that if the Admin hadn’t come to SysGov’s aid, fought and died beside the men and women and abstract personalities of the Gordian and Argo Divisions. In the dying, they had demonstrated it was possible not only for their universes to coexist but that there were threats against which they must join forces.

That had made the Providence Project possible; the technical exchange was what had made it a true partnership. The Admin had offered several impeller innovations, one so advanced it had yet to see active service, and SysGov had provided the technical expertise to leapfrog the Admin’s artificial gravity efforts by several decades.

Some officials in each government considered Providence Station to be nothing more than a research outpost. In truth, it was far more than that. The colossal base would serve as an operational hub with enough personnel, living quarters, hangar space, industrial printers, and logistical centers to support whole fleets of SysGov TTVs and Admin chronoports.

The station would also house the largest, most sensitive chronometric array ever constructed, capable of peering deeper into the transverse than ever before, and with far greater clarity.

And, hopefully, before the next existential threat came roaring out of the transverse’s depths with blood in its eye.

The transverse was the transdimensional space binding countless universes together to form the greater multiverse. It was a realm almost impossible for the human mind to visualize, stretching out in six spatial dimensions instead of the comfortable three of realspace, and though both Gordian Division and the DTI traveled through it, neither organization truly understood it.

Not yet.

It was a dangerous place, where chronometric storms could strike with little or no warning. Such hazards could rip through a TTV’s protective field as if it were a soap bubble, exposing ship and crew to a torrent of chronotons powerful enough to destabilize matter and turn the ships into twisted, nightmarish wrecks with crews interposed through decks and walls.

Providence Station had been designed with such hazards in mind. The main body of the station formed a thick disk edged in a honeycomb of hangars and docking arms, though many sections currently gave way to unfinished skeletal framework. Additional levels extended upward from that main body to form what resembled a massive cylindrical high-rise, also dotted with gaps around naked internal supports, while the long spike of the station’s chronoton impeller extended downward.

Thirty-three industrial ships of different sizes and configurations hovered around the station. Hundreds of construction drones and the thick, milky tides of microbot swarms moved about the unfinished sections in a slow but relentless dance.

Unlike most time machine impellers, the one built for Providence Station wasn’t designed to move a vessel, though it could perform that function if the need was great enough. Instead, Providence’s impeller had been designed to generate a chronometric field two orders of magnitude more powerful than anything produced artificially, with the lone exception of the ill-fated Tesseract, Lucius Gwon’s time-traveling battle fortress, built by the equally ill-fated Dynasty.

Storms fierce enough to rend a TTV apart would rage harmlessly against Providence Station’s protective envelope, allowing the station to serve as a safe harbor in addition to its many other functions.

Kleio slipped into one of the station’s open hangars, a tiny gunmetal ellipsoid next to the gargantuan station. Its thrusters set it down into the docking cradle, clamps secured the main body in place, and the prog-steel hangar doors sealed shut behind it.

The interior pressurized, and Kleio’s nose split open and morphed into a ramp. Raibert hurried down the ramp and crossed halfway to the station entrance, then paused and turned back.

An abstract window provided a raw view of the transverse from beyond the Kleio, though there wasn’t much to look at. The transverse was a realm of chronotons, not photons, and appeared black to human sight.

Mostly.

Chronotons could shed or absorb photons as they changed energy states, and a dense enough torrent of chronotons could produce visible light, enough to manifest as blobs of indistinct color, almost like the flickering hallucinations visible when someone closed their eyes in a dark room.

Today, the transverse formed a bruised canvas, shot with brief flashes not unlike lightning.

A storm’s brewing, Raibert thought darkly. In more ways than one.

He turned away from the view and hustled into the station.

Klaus-Wilhelm was waiting for him in the observational balcony overlooking the hangar.

“Boss,” Raibert greeted with a curt nod.

“Walk with me.”

Klaus-Wilhelm exited through the back of the room, and Raibert followed, moving quickly to match the man’s long, determined strides. They passed through a corridor with one wall the milky white of an active microbot swarm.

“Where are we headed?” Raibert asked.

“CHRONO Operations. Some of the grav tubes aren’t installed or commissioned yet, so we’re hoofing it. As soon as you and I are done, I’m heading into a meeting with CHRONO and the DTI to discuss what you’ve found.”

“And to get their help?”

“I certainly hope so.”

“You want me in that meeting?”

“I do. You’ll head out as soon as we’re finished. We’re dedicating just about every TTV within telegraph range to the search, and I want Kleio to be a part of it.”

“About that.” Raibert gave him a crooked smile. “We had an idea on the way over.”

“I figured. What’s on your mind?”

“Actually, it was Benjamin who came up with it. You know the quarantine universes?”

“Of course.”

“What if the thieves are hiding out in one of those?”

Klaus-Wilhelm paused at a T-junction and looked Raibert in the eyes. A red-and-white striped barrier along one “wall” separated the men from a deep, dark drop into the station’s unfinished guts.

“You want to take Kleio on a tour of the Q’s?” the Commissioner asked.

“That’s right.”

“Those universes are quarantined for some very good reasons. They’re hostile environments. To anyone, criminals included.”

“I know, but how would a criminal—a sufficiently crafty and paranoid one—look at the Q’s?”

“Hmm.” Klaus-Wilhelm paused in thought, then began to nod. “They’d see a universe we’re deliberately avoiding.”

“At the very least, someone needs to check them out. It’s dangerous work, so it might as well be us.”

“All right. You’ve convinced me.” Klaus-Wilhelm turned left down the corridor, and Raibert jogged to catch up. “Let Operations know which universes you plan to cover. Otherwise, you’re free to proceed at your own discretion.”

“Thanks. You can count on us.”

They continued deeper into the station at a brisk pace.

“This place has been coming along nicely,” Raibert said, looking around. “How far along are we? About halfway there?”

“Forty-two percent,” Klaus-Wilhelm said. “We’re supposed to have crossed the halfway point last week, but construction’s running behind. Some of that eight percent are the grav tubes.”

“Would have been nice to have those.”

“I couldn’t really care less,” Klaus-Wilhelm growled. “I’d give up all the grav plating in the whole station to have our array online.”

“Would have made our search easier?”

“Would have made it unnecessary. According to Andover-Chen, we would’ve seen the timeline split as it happened. Unlike the Argus Array, Providence is situated outside SysGov’s outer wall. A larger, more sensitive array and negligible interference should combine splendidly.” Klaus-Wilhelm frowned. “Once it’s working. Instead, we’re now close to three days behind whatever the hell is going on out there.”

“You’re right. That would have been nice.” Raibert let out a quiet sigh and kept walking. “You think maybe that’s why the ship got stolen now? Providence was getting a little too close to being ready?”

“It’s possible. Either way, we’ll make do with what we have.”

“Same as always. Right, boss?”

Klaus-Wilhelm grunted in agreement then led them into a wide circular space lined with vertical counter-grav shafts. All but one were sectioned off with physical barriers and virtual construction tape.

“This one works.” Klaus-Wilhelm indicated one of the counter-grav shafts.

Raibert followed him in, and a gentle graviton current whisked them upward through the station before depositing them into another shaft junction. Klaus-Wilhelm took one of the five exits, which opened at the far end to a massive, circular room with desks arrayed in stepped tiers around a central open space, almost like a stage surrounded on all sides by stadium seating. Additional doors lined the back walls, leading to offices, conference rooms, restrooms, a temporary cafeteria, and various other facilities.

A simplified map of the transverse floated above the room’s center, with the boundaries of whole universes streamlined into basic icons labeled with abbreviations like H12 or Q4. Additional icons showed the known or estimated positions of time machines, while two subplots detailed the forces present in both T1 and T2, otherwise known as SysGov and the Admin.

CHRONO Operations was considerably larger than Gordian Operations on Argus Station, but it was also designed to act as a command center for both the Gordian Division and the DTI, eventually replacing Gordian Operations along with the DTI equivalent on their Earth.

That was the plan, at least, and Raibert could detect some hints of that future, with Gordian personnel in their gray-green uniforms walking around or working at desks across from DTI agents in Peacekeeper blue. But the two sides were . . . very strictly segregated. And seemed to have picked desks as far away from their counterparts as possible.

“There seems to be . . . less cooperation going on than I expect.”

“Raibert?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“A word of warning before we head into this meeting. You’ll be up first, and I want you to keep it dry and factual in there. They ask you questions, you give them straight answers. If someone asks for an opinion or decision, I’ll step in and handle it. Clear?”

“As crystal.”

“Good.” Klaus-Wilhelm sucked in a sharp breath. “And now, hopefully, with a little luck, maybe we can get through this without those two idiots shouting at each other.”

* * *

“I don’t believe this!” shouted Clara Muntero, CHRONO Consul for the Admin. “We’ve been asking—no, we’ve been begging for help dealing with these attacks for weeks now! And instead of receiving what we’re practically on our hands and knees pleading for, you have the audacity to come here and ask us to help you?!”

“Madam Consul,” Klaus-Wilhelm began, his tone imbued with the patience of a saint, but then he paused and glanced around the triangular table. Raibert sat stiffly beside him, almost painfully rigid, watching the meeting degenerate with a horrified expression.

Director-General Csaba Shigeki sat on the DTI side of the triangular table, flanked by Jonas Shigeki, Under-Director of Foreign Affairs. The peaked cap of his Peacekeeper uniform rested on the table, and his black hair was bound into a long braid streaked with silver. He seemed to be straining his face in an attempt to pen up impolite words. Or perhaps reprimands might have been a better description. Meanwhile, his son Jonas leaned back in his seat and busied himself inspecting his cuffs while chewing on the inside of his lip. One of their security synthoids stood attentively at the back of the room, his face an impassive, gray-skinned mask, his yellow eyes fixed forward.

Consuls Peng Fa and Clara Muntero occupied the CHRONO side of the table, on opposite ends of it, as far apart as they could possibly sit. Muntero’s scowl darkened a round face framed by a strict buzz cut while Peng held an exasperated hand up to his forehead. His avatar’s skin was the black of night, and his eyes glowed an electric blue. Even their postures—the way they leaned away from each other—added to the subliminal sense these two despised one another.

Peng and Muntero were supposed to be partners, nominated by their respective governments to represent civilian interests and provide oversight for the temporal and transdimensional operations of Gordian and the DTI, with the long-term goal of forming a larger, unified organization.

In reality, their first steps together had been . . . rocky.

Klaus-Wilhelm opened his mouth to speak. “Consul Muntero—”

“This is ludicrous.” Peng lowered his hand from his forehead and looked up with glowing eyes. “We are providing aid! We’ve been monitoring all travel through SysGov’s outer wall, and we’ve openly shared all the data collected by the Argus Array. What more do you want?”

“What we want are these attacks on our people to stop!” Muntero snapped.

“We’re not the ones attacking you!”

“No, but your citizens are aiding and abetting criminals! Terrorist cells like Free Luna have suddenly become far more effective.”

“And if we could find the ones responsible, we’d bring them to justice! Be reasonable! We’re not magicians!”

Klaus-Wilhelm frowned at the mess unfolding before his eyes. He understood why Peng and Muntero had both been nominated for their respective posts. In effect, both President Byakko and Chief Executor Christopher First had come to the same conclusion and had nominated people who would keep a close eye on what was, without a shadow of a doubt, the most dangerous enterprise upon which humanity had ever embarked.

But these two mix as well as oil and water! he thought bitterly.

“Consul Muntero,” Klaus-Wilhelm said, this time more firmly, “I understand and sympathize with the problems the Admin is facing. However, we’re limited in the aid we can provide without a firmer grasp on who’s responsible. Instead, let’s focus on what we can do. The theft and destruction of Reality Flux is a matter we can start addressing now.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Muntero responded stiffly. “But you’re not up against terrorists armed with military-grade SysGov tech. Why, just yesterday one of our most secure facilities on the planet was hit.” She bobbed her head toward the Director-General. “Show them.”

Shigeki let out a quiet sigh then sat up.

“What happened?” Klaus-Wilhelm asked, genuinely concerned about the news.

“A Free Luna commando team infiltrated one of our prison towers using highly sophisticated software and equipment. Once inside, they broke into the prison domain’s one-way abstraction and pulled out several Free Luna members serving life sentences. Basically, the absolute worst of the worst. They then transmitted the prisoners out of the tower. The commando team didn’t survive the operation, which is a small comfort given what happened next.”

“Which was?” Klaus-Wilhelm asked.

“See for yourself. This is from the prison domain’s server room.” Shigeki placed his hand on the table. His Personal Implant Network interfaced with the room’s infostructure, and an abstraction appeared between them.

Row after row of racked infosystem nodes stretched to a high ceiling, and thick cables filled trenches covered by steel grates. Five men and women in Peacekeeper uniforms clustered around one of the racks. They were outlined in red, while Peacekeepers and drones with blue outlines converged on their position from both sides.

One of the terrorists set a heavy backpack on the ground and opened the top.

“For a free Luna!” he shouted, and his comrades chorused the words moments before he shoved his arm into the pack.

The pack detonated, and the explosion engulfed the terrorists. Not in fire but in a white aerosol that settled like powdered sugar, coating the aisle and dusting the Peacekeepers and drones nearby. The powder began to condense, forming a milky sheen that grew with each passing moment. Not swiftly at first, but with mounting speed, corroding everything it touched—be it flesh or metal—with equal ease. Consuming the racks and nodes and people for raw material.

“The entire tower had to be evacuated. Our efforts to contain and neutralize the self-replicators are . . . ongoing.” Shigeki removed his hand from the table, and the abstraction vanished.

“Why hasn’t the DTI been able to track down the source of these weapons?” Peng challenged. “Isn’t sifting through the past your specialty? You put it in your name, after all.”

“We’re trying, believe me.” Frustration lined Shigeki’s face. “So far, our investigations into the terrorists’ pasts haven’t produced any worthwhile leads. Not for the root cause of this upsurge in equipment sophistication, though we’ve done some good, taken out a few cells before they could strike. No, the problem we’re facing is that no actual materiel is being delivered to the cells. Rather, someone is sending them highly sophisticated software and patterns—patterns we’re certain were developed in SysGov—and the cells are printing the Restricted tech themselves.”

“So?” Peng held his hands out, palms up. “You’ve got time machines. Backtrack the signals!”

“We’re trying. We . . . ” Shigeki leaned forward with an elbow on the table. “Look, the short of it is that space is too damn big, even when we’ve sniffed out the signal’s vector, which we’ve managed to do twice so far. Add in a time axis, and the area to search is oppressively huge. I simply don’t have enough ships.”

“Ships,” Muntero stated coolly, “that we are now being asked to lend you.”

“We may still get lucky,” Shigeki said. “Maybe catch the culprits as they’re crossing the outer wall, or when they’re traveling through the transverse. But I don’t think we’re going to trace them down if we stick to the DTI’s standard playbook.”

“Consuls.” Jonas leaned forward, speaking up for the first time in the meeting. “Has it occurred to you these two problems might be related?”

“What makes you say that?” Peng asked, sounding less confrontational for a change.

“Despite our extensive patrols around the outer wall, we’ve been unable to pinpoint any evidence of unauthorized time or transdimensional travel.” Jonas spread his hands. “And now here you have a ship that vanished without your Argus Array detecting its phase-out. What I’m saying is these two problems seem awfully similar to me in that regard. That is why, Consuls, I’d like to stress the need for our organizations to work together. It’s very possible—perhaps even likely—that investigating one problem will in fact shed light on both. At the moment, the loss of Reality Flux is the more promising lead, so I suggest we focus our efforts there.”

“Agreed,” Shigeki said firmly. “We in the DTI aren’t getting anywhere as it is. Let’s try to find this branched universe and then see what shakes loose. We could arrange for one of our chronoport squadrons to be dedicated to the search almost immediately, with more on the way after that.”

Peng sat back and nodded. “Good, then are we in agreement?”

“We are not.” Muntero locked eyes with Shigeki. “We can’t weaken our defenses at a time when we’re under unprecedented attack.”

Oh, for the love of all that is good and holy! Klaus-Wilhelm fumed on the inside.

“Consul,” Shigeki replied evenly, “I believe we can afford a temporary reduction in defensive force strength with minimal impact.”

“Csaba, you can’t even track down these terrorists with the ships you have. What makes you think I have the slightest inclination to let you flitter away even that?”

Shigeki sat back in his seat and seemed ready to reply, but Peng beat him to it.

“Then you’re not going to support our search?” the SysGov consul asked.

“Not as the situation stands,” Muntero said. “Not unless we get something out of it.”

“What? Like a few TTVs?”

“Those would be better than nothing.”

“And would completely defeat the purpose of us asking for your ships.”

“That’s my position,” Muntero said with finality.

Peng put his forehead back in his hand.

“You know, Clara,” he began, “you really only have yourselves to blame for this.”

“Excuse me?”

“All these terrorist attacks. How long have they been going on? Since the founding of the Admin? Like, a few hundred years by now? And in all that time, have you ever wondered why they keep happening?”

Peng,” Klaus-Wilhelm warned.

“Let’s think about why this is for a moment.” Peng made a show of gazing at the ceiling while tapping his lips with a thoughtful finger. “Ah, right!” He snapped his fingers. “You’re a bunch of barbarians who enslave ‘artificial intelligences’ like me!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Muntero snapped. “These attacks are about lunar independence, not our Restrictions on AIs!”

“Then we’ll just add that problem to the list. Perhaps you should all get a clue and join the rest of us in the thirtieth century!”

“Oh, please! Take some responsibility for the mess you brought to our doorstep!”

“How about this instead? Read my virtual lips: We’re not responsible for your own dysfunction.”

“That’s big talk from people who still execute their own citizens. At least we don’t have the death penalty anymore!”

Peng rolled his eyes. “Oh, like your one-way abstractions are any better! Might as well call them ‘eternal torture prisons’! It’d be more accurate!”

“Peng,” Klaus-Wilhelm said, his voice calm and low but with a dangerous undercurrent. “You either bring this tantrum under control, or I swear to God, I’ll go right over your head and put this outburst in front of the President.”

“All I’m saying—”

“I don’t care. Bring the volume down, or else.”

“Fine,” Peng huffed, leaning back in his virtual chair.

The occupants fell silent, though Klaus-Wilhelm could almost feel the frustration choking the room, edging toward palpable loathing when it came to Peng and Muntero. Beside him, Raibert’s horrified expression had only grown worse.

After a long pause, he stood up.

“Excuse me, Consuls, but I have a search to organize.”



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